The Age of Grace

I can feel it tumbling down

The cracks widening as I age

I know this is not wrong

This is supposed to kill us

We are not meant for greatness

but plod and crumble

Worrying constantly over our small comforts

Regretting the accumulation

This is meant to kill us

First the pain

The limp

The hardening

All while revelations unfold

that we are hardpressed to speak of

We are meant to fight this and surrender

I can feel it tumbling down

But when I catch it

There is nothing in my hands

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